.

"I sometimes wonder," she said, "whether happiness and achievement go
together. And yet--I feel sure that you will achieve."

"To please you, Victoria," he answered, "I think I should almost be
willing to try."

CHAPTER XXX

P.S.

By request of one who has read thus far, and is still curious.

Yes, and another who, in spite of himself, has fallen in love with
Victoria and would like to linger a while longer, even though it were
with the paltry excuse of discussing that world-old question of hers--Can
sublime happiness and achievement go together? Novels on the problem of
sex nowadays often begin with marriages, but rarely discuss the happy
ones; and many a woman is forced to sit wistfully at home while her
companion soars.

"Yet may I look with heart unshook
On blow brought home or missed--
Yet may I hear with equal ear
The clarions down the List;
Yet set my lance above mischance
And ride the barriere--
Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis,
My Lady is not there!"

A verse, in this connection, which may be a perversion of Mr. Kipling's
meaning, but not so far from it, after all. And yet, would the eagle
attempt the great flights if contentment were on the plain? Find the
mainspring of achievement, and you hold in your hand the secret of the
world's mechanism. Some aver that it is woman.

Do the gods ever confer the rarest of gifts upon him to whom they have
given pinions? Do they mate him, ever, with another who soars as high as
he, who circles higher that he may circle higher still? Who can answer?
Must those who soar be condemned to eternal loneliness, and was it a
longing they did not comprehend which bade them stretch their wings
toward the sun? Who can say?

Alas, we cannot write of the future of Austen and Victoria Vane! We can
only surmise, and hope, and pray,--yes, and believe. Romance walks with
parted lips and head raised to the sky; and let us follow her, because
thereby our eyes are raised with hers. We must believe, or perish.

Postscripts are not fashionable. The satiated theatre goer leaves before
the end of the play, and has worked out the problem for himself long
before the end of the last act. Sentiment is not supposed to exist in the
orchestra seats. But above (in many senses) is the gallery, from whence
an excited voice cries out when the sleeper returns to life, "It's Rip
Van Winkle!" The gallery, where are t